Extreme Limit Page 6

What the hell am I doing?

  I can do this.

  The for-and-against deliberation sucked so much mental ability that she struggled to concentrate.

  Oliver may’ve sensed her ineptitude, because he reached for the rope and showed her where to thread it through. Her breath caught when his fingers skimmed hers. Milton was the only man who’d ever touched her tenderly. Until now. While her heart skipped a few beats at his close proximity, Oliver seemed completely oblivious. She watched his hands, torn between concentrating on what he was doing and appreciating how manly his fingers were.

  He pulled the rope tight, signifying the knot was ready, and stepped back, grinning. “Got it.”

  She nodded and cleared her throat. “I think so.”

  “Good.” He unraveled the knot and handed the rope to her. “Your turn.”

  As she measured out a sufficient length of rope, the weight of succeeding was like a ton of sand, and she felt every single grain. The test became of life-and-death importance. Given that it was designed to keep her from falling off the wall, maybe it was.

  Holly took her time, following the rope around itself to create a double figure eight, and to her surprise it looked right. She tugged on it, securing it tight, then looked up at him.

  “Well done. You’re ready… but unfortunately time’s up.”

  “What?”

  “It’s past eight o’clock. Lesson’s over.”

  She clenched her jaw. “I’m paying you to teach me to climb.”

  He crossed his arms. “I am teaching you to climb. Some things took a bit longer than they were meant to.” She had no doubt he was referring to how long she took to tie the climbers knot. “Besides, you haven’t actually paid me a cent yet.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about? Payment?”

  His eyebrows bounced. “It wasn’t. But should I be?”

  “No. Don’t worry, Mr. Nelson. You’ll get your money’s worth.”

  His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, then his shoulders softened. “Look, Amber. I’m sorry, but it really is past eight o’clock, and I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since eleven this morning. We made some real progress today. Next session, we’ll have you on the wall within five minutes, I promise.”

  Unclenching her jaw, she nodded. “Okay, that sounds good.”

  “Come on, let’s get you out of this harness.”

  He stepped forward and leaned over so close that she placed her hands on his shoulders. As he demonstrated how to release the harness, his breath floated across her neck and her heart thumped out a reckless beat. When the apparatus fell to her feet, she let go of his shoulders, stepped back, and stared up at him, blinking. Holly tried to ignore the butterflies that danced in her stomach when he smiled at her. His tenderness somehow made him seem strong, and she was stunned by how comfortable she felt in his company.

  “See? Easy.” He looped the rope around his shoulder and elbow and stepped away to hang it on the wall. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you again on Monday.”

  She cleared her throat. “May I take some rope home please?”

  He turned to her, frowning.

  “I’d like to practice.”

  “Oh, okay, as long as it’s not to hang yourself.”

  Her eyes bulged.

  “It was a joke, Amber. Unless…” His eyes drilled into her. “That’s something I should worry about.”

  She bit her tongue, because if he’d asked her that anytime in the last three years, he probably wouldn’t have liked her answer.

  Not now, though.

  Now everything had changed.

  Chapter Nine

  Regi knew struggling was pointless, yet he still wrestled against the ropes that kept his wrists restrained behind his back. He’d been in this situation before. Twice. The first time, though, it’d just been a warning. It’d still scared the crap out of him. They’d kept him tied up in a dark shed so long he’d shit his pants. He’d often wondered if that embarrassing moment was why they’d released him without a single bruise.

  The second time, after slapping him around a bit, they snapped his pinky finger. He’d never forget the pain, nothing like he’d ever felt before. It never did heal properly, and when his hands were really cold his finger throbbed like a bitch.

  This was the third time they’d brought him back to the same empty factory. At least, he assumed it was the same building, given the rotten fish smell. Each time they let him go, they blindfolded him and tossed him out of a moving van like a dead body.

  Regi didn’t fear for his life. If Carson wanted to kill him, he would’ve done it already. Carson wanted money. Money that Regi didn’t have and would never have.

  He accepted that he had to pay off his debt. It’d been over three years since he’d crashed into Carson’s Stingray, and he’d been at the man’s mercy ever since. Problem was there was no formal arrangement that detailed how the debt was being reduced.

  His duties had been as easy as they’d been varied, and on the odd occasion he’d actually considered himself lucky to have crumpled Carson’s car. He’d been Carson’s chauffer dozens of times. Most often in the middle of the night, when Carson and a scantily clad young woman needed a lift to or from an exclusive engagement. Sometimes the command had been during the day, and Regi had to sneak out of work to perform his duty. One journey had been just three streets in total, and Regi had to crawl out of bed at three in the morning to complete that one. Another had taken hours, and he was pretty sure Carson had received a hand job along the way.

  Regi had also played waiter at least a dozen times at Carson’s exclusive mansion in Broadmoor, a gated community overlooking Union Bay. Those were the times Regi had felt blessed to have met the man. While he cruised the crowd with trays of drinks and miniature treats, he’d had the pleasure of being extremely close to some of the most beautiful women in the world. Most of them exposed ample cleavage and didn’t seem to mind one bit if Regi’s eyes wandered.

  Problem was, Regi had no idea how much of the debt he’d repaid. He’d started tabling the unpaid work about fourteen months after the crash. Not that it helped. He wouldn’t dare voice his tallied total to Carson anyway.

  A loud crack and a bolt of light across the concrete floor signaled the opening of a door. He squinted against the glare and noted two men silhouetted against the light.

  “Well, if it isn’t my old friend Regi the Rat.”

  Regi recognized the voice: Pope. The man had made Regi his personal punching bag after Regi had triggered his fall in that alley all those years ago. If Regi could turn back one moment in his life, it’d be a strong debate between crashing into Carson’s car and dodging Pope’s tackle that time.

  The blow to his jaw came out of the darkness. Regi’s neck snapped with the force and he tasted blood. Carson never did his dirty work. If he did, Regi was certain the blows wouldn’t be anywhere near as powerful as Pope’s.

  He had no idea why they called him Pope. The man was far from a saint.

  The second blow burrowed deep into Regi’s gut, slamming his breath out of him. He howled at the pain, yet tried to keep focus. If he could see where the punches were coming from, he could prepare. Boxing had taught him how to deflect and how to clench his muscles to diminish the blow. Trouble was, in the dark like this, he had a millisecond to counter the attack. It wasn’t long enough, and his body suffered.

  “What d’ya want?” Regi spat the words out and they bounced around the empty space.

  “Carson wants his money.” Pope followed up his demand with a kick to Regi’s thigh. The chair toppled and Regi’s head slammed onto solid concrete. Stars danced across his eyes, bringing a glittering display to the blackness around him.

  He groaned at the pain belting his temple. His hip took the brunt of the fall.

  Regi was airborne for a heartbeat as he and the chair were dragged upright again. He shook his head, trying to ward off the fog that threatened to consume him. “I don’t have any money.”

&
nbsp; “Not the right answer.” A fist shot through the ray of light and Regi clenched his stomach before the blow connected. It still hurt like hell, but this time it was muscle rather than kidneys.

  “I am paying him back.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded shrill, desperate.

  “Oh, really? That’s interesting, I haven’t seen a single dollar from you.”

  The slap across his face stung like a thousand wasps, and in that instant Regi knew he was never going to be free. He spat a wad of bloody spit and the red globule lit up briefly in the bolt of light. Tears stung his eyes, and he was torn between fighting them back and sobbing like a baby. “Just go ahead and kill me.”

  “What’d you say?” Pope leaned in close and his rancid breath nearly choked Regi.

  Regi was a heartbeat away from head-butting the asshole when Pope pulled back, maybe sensing Regi’s thoughts. “Kill me,” Regi said. “Just get this shit over with.”

  “No can do, Regi the Rat.”

  Regi will never forgive his mother for naming him Reginald Aaron Tate. His initials created an acronym that’d followed him around like a bad smell for as long as he could remember.

  Footsteps indicated that a second man had moved behind Regi, and he braced for a blow from behind. Seconds passed. A minute. But nothing happened.

  “Mr. Carson has a proposal for you.” Pope’s voice boomed off the concrete.

  Regi swallowed the blood in his mouth. “What?”

  “How’d ya like to be debt free?”

  Chapter Ten

  When Holly returned home after her first session with Oliver, she used that high to push onto the next step in her crazy plan: learning to ski again. She’d booked the nearest ski resort and planned to drive up on Friday night.

  But her strategy to drive to the resort after work had been obliterated by too many lost hours staring at her computer. Her overactive imagination had her riding from one stressful thought about the upcoming weekend to another, and she’d tried to talk herself through the unease by reflecting on how well yesterday’s session with Oliver had gone.

  It didn’t work, though, and she had to ward off a throbbing headache with two Advils.

  Unable to put it off a moment longer, and for the first time ever, she shut down her work computer four hours early. Not that it mattered; the unfinished reports were for doctors who didn’t apply strict deadlines. They knew she’d get it done as quickly as possible, and that seemed to be sufficient for them. She was the one who put pressure on her work performance. It was another one of those distractions that kept her sane.

  Before she changed her mind, she strode to her bedroom, shoved the last bits and pieces into her suitcase, locked up her apartment, lugged the suitcase down to her car, and, with the music blaring from her car’s ancient radio, she headed north on the road that divided the town in two.

  Since moving to Brambleton, Holly had barely ventured outside her home, let alone beyond the city outskirts. Online shopping had become her norm. In fact, other than going to Upper Limits, the only time she’d had to leave her apartment in the last three months was to collect her mail or post a letter. It was amazing how easy being a recluse was.

  She was surprised at how quickly the mountains came into view. Her first peek at the snow in the distance had her heart thumping in her neck and shivers prickling her spine.

  According to her research, Altitude Mountain Resort was just a ninety-minute drive from her apartment, but each mile she crossed had her questioning what the hell she was doing. At every turn in the road, the instinct to turn back was like forked lightning in her brain. The forks shot off in two opposing directions: one saying she should be at home hiding and the other saying, damn it, she had to do this.

  She never thought she’d return to snow again.

  A vision permanently etched into her memory zipped across her brain. She was on her back, looking up at sheer ice peppered with charred helicopter debris. A jagged gash of blue sky ran through the middle of the icy walls, and plumes of her ragged breath punched out of her, clouding her vision. It was the very moment she’d realized she was all alone, deep in an ice crevice. It was the moment she’d accepted that she was going to die.

  But she didn’t die.

  Somehow, she’d survived the nightmare.

  Her mind flashed to the frozen lovers. Maybe they were the reason. And Dorothy, the elderly woman, desperate to prove her son’s innocence.

  Was this her destiny? She chuckled at that stupid concept.

  But whatever it was… she’d started this quest now. And as ridiculous as it sounded, it was something she had to do. Holly clenched the steering wheel harder, cranked up the music, and helped Robbie Williams realize how much life he had running through his veins.

  The song couldn’t have been timelier. Holly had been trapped in her home for so long, she’d forgotten what it was like to breathe fresh air. She wound down her window and allowed the wind to whip her hair back. But a minute later, the cold breeze nearly had her ear snapping off and she reversed that decision.

  She turned up the heater and fought with the windshield defogger as the car began its climb up the mountain. Dirty snow lined the black asphalt that cut a snaking path upward. Halfway up, tiny snowflakes began to hit the windshield and the wipers swiped them away with a noisy screech. The grating noise reminded her that she needed to get the twenty-year-old car in for a service soon. But that would require leaving home. She didn’t leave home.

  Unless it was for a quest to save two people who were already dead.

  The absurdity of it hit her square in the chest when she arrived at the ski resort parking lot. On the drive up the mountain, snow-laden Douglas firs had blocked her view skyward. Not now, though. Not in the resort parking lot. The vista beyond the resort was supposed to be breathtaking. But not in the way Holly felt it. The mountain loomed, like a giant white monster about to devour the building and everyone in it.

  She’d already been swallowed by a mountain once.

  Sucking in a shaky breath, she counted to five and let it out in a huge huff.

  But her brain was a frozen vault that’d trapped snapshots of her nightmare, and when she wasn’t vigilant, they’d haunt her. They came back now. Ice. Blood. Bodies. Ten images. Twenty. Flickering like a faulty video.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she clenched her fists, plonked her head on the steering wheel, and rode out the onslaught. Her therapist had taught her this technique. Instead of fighting the barrage, she’d go with it. Eventually the images would stop and she’d still be there and nothing would have changed.

  Facing her fear. That’s what Dr. Andrews had call it.

  Today’s fear was dominating the windshield: the snow-covered mountain.

  Her windows had completely fogged out her view by the time she peeled her fingers off the steering wheel. “I can do this. I am Amber Hope, and I can do this!”

  Mentally repeating the mantra, she opened the door and stepped from the car. Four layers of clothing did little to stop the frigid air from seeping into her bones. It was like liquid mercury, leaching in, aching. Especially the bones she’d broken. They seemed to have their own gauges for cold and warm.

  Furious that she hadn’t thought to bring gloves, she tucked her hands into her pockets, put her head down, and aimed for the resort’s stone steps. Halfway across the asphalt, her feet slipped on ice, and she only just managed to stay upright. With her hands out sideways, she made it unscathed, and at the top of the steps she pushed through the door.

  She entered a large wood-lined room with a high vaulted cedar ceiling. A fireplace, nestled into an enormous hexagonal-shaped stone chimney, was the center of the room. In front of the fire, a man and a woman, occupying two overstuffed chairs, glanced her way, but only fleetingly before turning their attention back to the fire. Holly welcomed the warmth, yet her fingers maintained a painful throb that she attempted to massage away.

  As she rubbed life back into her hands, she fought the anxiety
mushrooming in her brain and walked toward the reception desk that spread the length of the far wall.

  The young woman beamed at her. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Altitude, heaven at the top of the world.” Her eyes bounced to the burn scar on Holly’s cheek and her jaw dropped a fraction.

  Holly should have expected this, but she’d been so worried about the mountain, she hadn’t given any thought to her scar. A chunk of her resolve snapped off at the woman’s reaction. It was a jolt. It always was. It was like her brain had her remembering what she used to look like, and then a complete stranger would bring that reality crashing into focus.

  Holly flicked her hair forward, attempting to dislodge the woman’s lingering gaze. “I’m Amber Hope. I’m checking in for two nights.”

  “Okay, let me get your paperwork.” When she strolled to a table at the back, Holly studied the giant schematic that detailed the mountain, resort, and facilities that adorned the wall behind her. According to the diagram, Sienna Mountain, where Altitude Lodge was situated, had a highest peak of just nine thousand three hundred feet. The mountain where she’d lost Milton was nearly thirteen thousand feet high.

  She pictured the mountain, with its dueling monoliths and shark fin peak, and a shudder rumbled through her. The temptation to turn around and run was crippling. She gripped the counter instead, determined not to give that thought any more attention.

  “Oh, Miss Hope, you’re going to be so happy.” The young lady’s voice lured Holly away from the black hole she’d tumbled into. “You’re staying in the best chalet on the mountain.” She gazed at Amber with a look of expectation.

  “Thank you.”

  “Have you been here before?”

  She shook her head. “First time.”

  “Wonderful. And I see you’ve also booked for ski lessons.” She rummaged behind the counter, then placed a large white envelope on the counter. “Here’s your welcome pack that’ll explain everything.” The woman placed a map on the counter and drew a line from the admin building to Amber’s private chalet and explained where to park. Using her pen, she pointed out other significant aspects of the resort.